


Punctuality

by FoxDragon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Green Mother, M/M, Yavanna - Freeform, Yavanna made Hobbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxDragon/pseuds/FoxDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Sansukh. Bilbo arrives in the place where Hobbits go, but he isn't entirely satisfied to be there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sansûkh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/855528) by [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd). 



> This idea refused to leave me alone, so even though I have basically no time right now to actually write, I started taking one of my tablets to work so that I could write in the time between when I get to work, and when work starts, and during my half hour lunch break. (I work in construction so lunch is the seriously the only time during the day that I have to myself)
> 
> Also I have no beta, so I have gone through this as well as I can as far as editing but I may have missed something.

_“Life is the waterfall, we’re one in the river and one again after the fall”_  
-System of a Down “Arials”

 

The sun was warm on his skin.

Distantly he could hear birds singing.

A warm summer breeze, smelling of grasses, flowers and fresh soil danced across his skin.

It felt like contentment. 

It echoed with peace and stillness.

And it was wrong. 

He should ache with weariness and age. Even breathing had come with increasing difficulty of late, to say nothing of his thoughts. His thoughts that now flowed easy and steady as a stream. Where was he? He could feel the warmth of the sun but where was its brightness? Where were the vibrant green grasses he could smell, or the tittering birds he could hear? Where were the heavy, vibrant flowers whose sweet perfume drifted across his awareness? 

Oh.

Right.

Of course.

Bilbo Baggins opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the harsh glare of a bright and cheerful summer sun. With a groan he tried to raise a hand to shade his eyes, but was stopped by a gentle hand that covered them for him, and a voice he had not heard since long, long ago when he was fresh and the world, in his eyes at least, was still new; a voice that he had heard only his dreams and memories from far too young of an age scolded him lovingly.

“Hush now Button, slowly. There’s no need to rush.” The gentle hand brushed over his face, prompting him to close his eyes once more as he turned into the caress, small soft fingers smoothing the hair at his brow and brushing back through the thicker locks around face.

He swallowed once, and then a second time, before trying his voice.

“Mum?” The word was little more than a croaked whisper in his throat, unaccustomed as it was to forming words, just yet.

Her smile could be heard in her voice, mellow and sweet as it had always been.

“There you are my little Bilbo-button. It’s all alright now. You’ve had a splendid long life and now you’re home at last.”

“So I am dead then…” he said softly, as much to himself as to her. Then something occurred to him and sat up, eyes wide for a moment before falling back to the grass, hand over his face. “Oh!.... oh goodness that is bright isn’t it?”

“Bilbo?” Her voice was now concerned as she shifted to sooth him from the suddenness of his own actions. “Bilbo, darling, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing mum just…” He hesitated, not quite sure at first how to shape the slowly forming suspicion into words. “This place, where we are now…. Where are we? Who else is here?” he asked somewhat tentatively as he started to open his eyes once more into the now somewhat less blinding light of the sun.

Again she smiled as her hand returned to soothing his brow. “Oh everyone dear. Your father of course, my siblings, his siblings, your grandparents and grand aunts and uncles and all the way back, all hobbits, every hobbit that was, since even before the wandering times.”

That didn’t sound like the ‘everyone’ he was hoping for.

He reached out for her, uncertain, taking her hand in his as his eyes started to adjust and he was able to squint up at her face. “And…. Other folk? Tall folk? Dwarves? Are there Dwarves here?”

Belladonna Baggins cocked her head in confusion. “Tall folk and Dwarves? No, of course not. This is a place for Hobbits. Why would there be tall folk or Dwarves here?”

Slowly this time he sat up again, rubbing his hands over his now smooth, young face. Oh but he felt tired all of a sudden! What was this thing? To die, to wake anew, and yet be filled with a wearisome feeling! And it was wearisome, it was truly wearisome indeed. More wearisome in its way than his great pressing age had been in the end. 

To think! After such a long life of re-thinking every decision, regretting every choice, wishing with every breath that things had ended differently… After his dreams, no not dreams really? After his dreaming walks with that oh so real vison of Thorin (who wasn’t so much a vision now was he? But how could he have been anything else? Yet he must have been, for the alternative, no matter how impossible it seemed, simply made no _sense_!), after finding that the Dwarf was really there yet not even then fully comprehending such a boon (and it was really only now, as his fresh and new mind worked cleverly at the jumbled memories that he truly began to comprehend, truly began to understand) that he truly grasped the enormity of it all.

After so many long years of comforting his aching heart with the thought that, should the Valor have any mercy whatsoever, death would bring a reunion, the joining that had never occurred in life.

But it was not to be, for some things could not be denied. He was just a simple Hobbit, and his place, in death as ever in life, was to be in a Hobbity place. 

And Thorin was no Hobbit. 

His mother did not leave him long to wallow in his wearisome state however, and was soon pulling on his hand, urging him up from the grass. “Come on then little button, let’s get you up and home. There are so many waiting to see you!” He let her pull him up from the grass, finding a long forgotten strength in his legs and feet.

Once he had taken a moment to steady himself he looked around once more, his eyes now fully adjusted to the warm and welcoming sun. Green, green grass stretched in every direction, blanketing the smoothly rolling hillocks and fields and rolling like a great living sea in the gentle breeze. This was … both not the Shire, and certainly the Shire. And that was a rather odd to be sure. After all, that there? That was the Party Tree, except…that wasn’t the field the Party Tree stood in. But it was, wasn’t it? Because there was the party tree, standing in that field, so that must be the right field. Except it wasn’t.

And that there? That was the market field, except it wasn’t because the Market Field had never been bisected by a clear and cheerful stream, had never been empty of the wooden stalls where farmers and tradesman had bartered and displayed their wares. But it _was_ the Market field as plain as the nose on his face! 

He rubbed his eyes again and his mother tutted.

“Don’t think so hard about it my dear, there are many things here both familiar and strange, and why shouldn’t there be? The Lady’s land for us is her own after all, but also is it ours.”

He drew his attention away from the strange, startling and familiar surroundings and looked at her then, really looked. Her face full and plump and young, younger than he remembered her being, and her hair shorter with wide purple ribbons holding back thick honey-gold curls. She wore a simple dress of deep maroon and never could he have recalled her ever wearing such a color.

“I’m sorry, was I speaking aloud?” His voice was sounding more certain at least, to his own ears at any rate. 

She smiled at him and brushed his hair back from his face. It was nearly to his shoulders… why was his hair so long? Certainly it had never been so long life… had it been? No… no he was rather certain it had not been, not even right after… No. he would not think of then, of those days. Days and faces that now were only his memory. A distinctly not-Hobbity memory that would now be all he had in this very Hobbity place.

“Oh button, you don’t need to say anything. It’s a common enough remark for one just newly arrived. And besides, I’m your mother. I don’t need to hear your voice to know your thoughts.”

There was something in how she said that… he looked at her sharply, question unasked on his tongue.

She gave him a sad smile, brushing at his hair again. “Yes, I can tell this isn’t what you wanted to find at the end. But even though you’re not so happy to see your dear departed mother ag-“ She was cut off as he hugged her fiercely “No! No that’s not it at all!” he insisted and she laughed, clear and bright and _exactly_ as he remembered. 

“Oh relax my darling!” she wrapped her arms around him. “I know that’s not what you meant!” the mirth in her voice softened slightly. “But you were hoping for something else? Perhaps some _one_ else?”

He sighed and nodded against her shoulder, pulling back to look at her face again, drinking in the sight of features that had faded from his faulty, mortal memory long ago. “I had… hoped.” He admitted. “But it was a silly hope when I think back at it, and why should I expect any special consideration. I’m just a simple Hobbit that went on one silly adventure.”

His mother pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and took his hand, leading him into the hills toward a very familiar green door. “Oh don’t give up hope just yet my little button. Death doesn’t need to be the entire end.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~

The smial was both Bag End, and Not Bag End. But it was home, and it was full of life and joy and laughter and family. His mother was here, his father, both proud and strong and vibrant in their youth. Old Took was often around, from only a few hills over, but he wasn’t the Old Took that Bilbo recalled, living his death as all did in the fullness of his best years. 

There were family and friends all around, Bagginses that he had never met but knew by name, Tooks, Brandybucks, Bracegirdles and Gamgee’s. All he had known in his life that had preceded him into death, and so many, many more that he had never met. 

There were Hobbits that had lived long ago and far to the east. Hobbits that had walked the twisted pathways of the wide world in the wandering times. Hobbits that had been first to set their eye’s upon the rolling peaceful hills of the Shire. There were Hobbits that considered his life of adventure shameful, Hobbits that thought him courageous, and many who had slept so many nights on desolate roads that he felt almost ashamed at calling his journey to Erebor an adventure when cast in the light of all they had seen and done.

He did the best that he could to settle, to be truly at peace in this place of quiet and plenty. The pantries were always full, sweet fruits and tart berries always ripe to be picked for pies and tarts. Tomatoes grew fat and bright in gardens of rich dark soil near potatoes carrots and lettuces, framed by blooming flowers of such size and vibrancy that Beorn would have been jealous to see them.

It was truly a place where a Hobbit could live and relax and want for nothing.

But want, Bilbo Baggins did. 

After the first few days of meeting relatives and ancestors unknown, of sharing tales by the hearth and picnics beneath the trees, he was swiftly finding himself restless. Relating the tale of his own adventures to his mother and father, and bearing their knowing looks when he mentioned Thorin’s name, had only served to increase the itching need for a change that tickled at his feet and mind. 

And so it came that not even a month of gentle summer days had passed since he had awoken under that bright cerulean sky before he packed a small rucksack of traveling foods and set off walking. 

It was just a curiosity, he told his mother and any else who asked.

He just wanted to see how far this place went.

It wasn’t like he was trying to leave or anything.

He certainly wasn’t looking for any mountains on the horizon…

But whatever it was that he wasn’t looking for, he also never found it. He walked for days over soft grass, crossing small tumbling streams, and under gentle emerald canopies of great oak, ash and birch trees. He walked and walked and always toward the rise of the sun, and after nearly a week of walking he found not an edge to the world, but rather a familiar green door.

Feeling rather dejected he sat on the small bench on the porch of Bag End. There was a slump to his shoulders as he pulled out his pipe, stuffing it slowly and, once it was lit, puffing halfheartedly. 

He didn’t look up when someone sat next to him, he simply sighed and took another pouf of his pipe.

“Now child, why are you so melancholy?” the voice that spoke to him was a woman, in fact it was every woman. Or was it a stream? Certainly it was sunshine, and birdsong and growing green things, bright and verdant and patient and wild. He looked up and then away, Her face was not to be seen by him, that he knew in his bones as certain as his name, as certain as sunrise.  
“Green lady…” his voice was small beside her, yet still measures larger than he felt. “I… I’m not…”  
Her laugh was pebbles falling in a creek, the rustle of sapling branches in the breeze, the sound of grass stretching up from the soil toward the ever unreachable sun. Her hand on his shoulder was immense and tiny, delicate and interminable, but all at once embracing and comforting and most of all, the hand of a mother, his mother. All mothers.

“Oh my dear Biblo, you are. You needn’t fib to me child, I know you far deeper than any ever shall, I made you dearheart. I brought you into the world. I formed your heart and I formed your soul”

He swallowed, throat dry and tight. “Then why….” He swallowed again and found his voice. “Then why did you make me like this? Why was I made to be so alone in my life that even death I cannot find myself!”

Her embrace was encompassing and all things. “My love, my joy… I have made you none of these things. I have made you strong, and caring and loyal, but I did not make you to be alone, nor are you this way. You maybe cannot see it so much yet, but it’s true.”

He found little comfort in her words, despite the deep warmth they settled into his heart and bones. “If this is not how you made me to be, then why is it the way I am?”

Soft lips that were flower petals and soft down and the breath of a newborn pressed against his brow. “My darling Bilbo Baggins. I merely planted the seed of who you were to be, the soil and sun that you grew in shaped you as much as anything I granted.”

He heaved a deep and heavy breath. “So that’s it then. This is my eternity.”

She patted him once more on the shoulder, standing from the bench. “I think it may be a bit soon to be making assumptions like that.” There was something in her voice, something under the birdsong and summer breeze. 

“What? … what do you…?” He looked up at her uncertainly, wincing at the brightness and felt more than saw her smile.

“Be patient my child, just a few days longer.” And she was gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At first it seemed that nothing had changed. He woke in the morning in his soft cottony bed, had first breakfast (a light tea and scone, or maybe some toast) with his parents and often an assortment of other relatives and friends, joined his mother in the garden or his father at baking before second breakfast… in short, his life after death went on unchanged for the first few days after his return.

On the fourth day the door appeared. Or rather it began to appear. It started as a blank space along a wall that no-one could remember being blank, and objects when moved to fill in the blank space simply returned to their original place with no inhabitant of the Smial having moved them. It was the Old (but not really so old anymore) Took who told Belladonna that sometimes the Smials in this place grew, when new family would soon be arriving, so that each and every Hobbit had a place in Her fields.

The revelation saddened Bilbo, as the only relative he could imagine that would be calling Bag End home was his dear Frodo, and it was far, far too soon for Frodo to have succumbed to any natural sort of end. The idea that his nephew should feel himself so broken by the events of his life, as to take his own? To follow his uncle into the forever-after? It set an even deeper darkness than before upon Bilbo’s heart, one that even the most perfect afternoon tea could not absolve. 

That fear however was soon swept away in a nervous tangle of anticipation when, after a bit more than a day of slowly fading into existence, the door began to shape itself. It was not a Hobbit door. It had sharp corners, and a seam down the center, and began to fade not into any rich colored paint as a sensible Hobbit would use on a door, but rather into a sheen of weathered metal and stone.

The ‘door’ that was becoming real in the hallway of Bag End, only a few steps from the bedroom where Bilbo slept in death, often troubled by unremembered dreams of a half imagined ghost, was a Hobbit-door sized reproduction of the gates of Erebor.

And as soon as that fact became clear to Bilbo, he of course tried the knob. Nothing happened, it wasn’t yet even formed enough to be locked or open, but it was something he couldn’t help. He just had to, because he knew with every fiber of his being, he just knew.

Thorin would be on the other side of that door.

The door continued to fade slowly into reality, to form and shift and solidify, over several days. Hobbits from across the hills came to inspect it, to remark and exclaim over its appearance. Nothing of any sort like it had ever happened, they said. Oh, once long ago there had been a Hobbit lass whose love in life had been an unusually short man from Rohan, and not long after her arrival in the lady’s fields it was said a great chariot of light had appeared from beyond the unreachable horizon and faced with the choice, she had climbed up to her love and ridden off with him to the place where men go. 

To anyone’s knowledge she had never returned.

Bilbo wasn’t entirely surprised when, after the telling of that particular story, his rucksack had appeared packed and ready with a few belongings and reminders of his home and family. It appeared just to the side of the door, and there it sat, waiting to be needed. When he questioned his mother she had smiled, laughed and told him that his father was no fool, and knew the depth of a Took’s devotion well.

That had been less of a surprise than he would have thought at first, but Bungo merely placed one hand on his son’s shoulder, looked him in the eye and told him to find his happiness, wherever that adventure should take him.

After that the biggest surprise and hurt came when the door still did not open.

By the fourth day from its appearance, it had become a part of his routine. Once awake, before first breakfast, he would go to the door, grasp the knob, and it would refuse to turn. After second breakfast he would give it another go, and still nothing would happen. Elevensies would come and pass, luncheon, tea, dinner, supper… a Hobbit’s day is marked by their meals, and every meal in Bilbo’s was proceeded, or followed, by a visit to the door in the hallway. And disappointment. 

On the eighth day in a pique he declared he would ignore the door completely, and kept to this until midway through tea when he could no longer hold off the need, and in the middle of listening to Bullroarer once more tell the corrected tale of his adventures (Golf? Really! It was crocket that he invented that day, Gandalf was certainly a great fibber!) He had left his spoon to clatter rather rudely in his saucer and rushed to the door.

The door of course, had no great opinion on being ignored and refused to change its mind about opening. He had little appetite that evening for dinner (although by supper his Hobbit nature had resurfaced and he made up for anything he had missed in terms of caloric intake.

The ninth day proceeded in much the same manner as the days before it.

It was on the tenth day that things changed.

The day was normal enough all day, it was a ‘market’ day and although there was no need to buy or sell goods in this place of plenty, it was still in the nature of Hobbits to haggle and trade and compare what they grew, built and sewed. On market days they would mingle along the winding pathways, in the large empty field (The market field that wasn’t the market field, but clearly was) that was more or less in the center of the boundless smials, and under the wide canopy of tree branches that shaded those below them.

Bilbo had yet to reach the point of taking up any sort of craft or hobby (and felt that as long as there was any hope of travelling through the hallway door to a world where a certain moody and thick skulled dwarf could be found, then doing so was rather superfluous really) so he had nothing to trade, but also no great desire to acquire much, and thus simply wandered through the crowds enjoying the clamor and press of so many on all sides.

The day was long and the evening well upon them by the time all who called Bag End home had returned. Dinner had been eaten with some of the Gamgee’s and a handful of Brandybucks picnic style in the grass by a nearby stream, with many of the group lingering to fish the clear waters, so supper was to be a late affair.

Bilbo joined his father in the kitchen preparing the three fat silver trout that they had caught after dinner, while socializing with their friends before returning home. The fish were swiftly cleaned and spiced and fried up in oil with rosemary, sage and a good dribbling of lemon while bread baked earlier in the day warmed in the oven.

Belladonna had just finished pouring the tea as they all sat to eat when it came echoing through the winding hallways of that cozy Hobbit hole. Knocking. Three great heavy thuds that seemed to resonate all more ponderously for just how… normal they were.

There was a moment of confusion among the three before Bilbo simply dropped the butter dish in his hands, the thin ceramic shattered but was unnoticed. He was already half out the kitchen before it hit the ground, scurrying through the twisted passaged to a door that did not lead outside, that had simply faded into being near his bedroom and was not any sort of Hobbit door.

A moment of hesitation, standing in front of that iron passage that suddenly seemed deep and vast and ancient, the true, full sized gates of Erebor, impossibly set into the hallway of a small and cozy Hobbit hole. Bella and Bungo caught up in that moment and each took the other’s hand as they waited from the end of the hallway, watching their son as he watched the door.

It did nothing.

He took a deep, steadying breath and reached out to grasp the cool bronze knob and twisted.

The knob seemed to hesitate in his hand, then gave in and turned obediently, letting the door split open in the center and swing back outward into the hallway, forcing Bilbo to step back lest he be struck by the impossibly heavy thing.

For a moment he couldn’t see anything beyond except darklight and daystars.

Then a shape, great broad shoulders capped by dark waves of thick black hair, taller than him by a full head, taller than any Hobbit.

The air froze in his throat and for a moment he was stunned into silence with nothing to say, then without having any thought of it…

“You’re late, or did you get lost again?”

 

 

COMING SOON

Punctuality Chapter 2: Addendum

Thorin reacts to being called late

Bilbo demands kisses

Bella and Bungo have a small domestic

(I may be posting this under the influence of too much wine without enough dinner, so if I screwed something up terribly, please let me know.)


	2. Chapter 2: Addendum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, any comments or critiques would be deeply welcome.
> 
> Unbeta'd as always, so if you see something wrong, please let me know.

ADDENDUM

 

Thorin frowned down at him, clearly not expecting the greeting he was given. “I’m late? Me? I have been waiting for nearly 7 decades I will have you know, and aye, I would gladly wait another seven if it was what was needed but really, I don’t thi-“

Bilbo cut him off mid rant by grabbing the braids on either side of his face and pulling him down for a very long awaited kiss.

Thorin let himself be pulled in, resting wide callused palms on Bilbo’s slim hips as he stepped closer, tilting his head to plunder the mouth beneath his. For years, decades he had longed for this. This, which they had never shared in life…

The thought brought him back to himself and he stepped back, blinking. Bilbo made a small noise when he did, protesting, and tried to pull him back but he would never be near a match for Thorin’s strength and the Dwarf resisted easily. Although the physical resistance was far simpler than the emotional.

“Bilbo?” he breathed in question. “Have you truly…” He cut himself off and started again. “I mean to say… we never… in Life we did not…”

“Oh confound you, you thick headed dwarf!” The Hobbit kicked him… Kicked him! In the shin. “Confound you and kiss me again!” He demanded but Thorin stepped back hands rising in a placating gesture. 

“As much as I am pleased with the welcome I think we should speak of this further.”

Bilbo glared at him, hands balled into fists and braced on his hips where Thorin’s hands had been mere moments before. 

“I never married!” He stated loudly and Thorin blinked at the apparent non-sequiter, then he went on to explain. “I hared off on that fools errand of an quest with you and then you went and died before you could ever even have the prize you fought so hard to win, and I came back to the shire and nothing was the same!” 

He barely seemed to take a breath.

“My mornings were empty, my nights too quiet, my house had no laughter, no voices, no life in it.” He shook his head “Food was what it always had been but it wasn’t right and there were offers…. More than I could ever imagine or expect, but I never married, never raised children… that’s odder for a Hobbit than going on an adventure you know! That more than anything had the neighbors gossiping and calling me mad, behind my back at first, but to my face in time, but I never!... I never married..” He shook his head, voice going small as his rant trailed off, then before Thorin could gather himself enough to interject he drew a breath, looked him in the eye and said.

“I never married and you waited, seventy years you waited and watched and came to in my dreams in the end when my mind was starting to untether from my body, and here now is a door between the place where Hobbits go, and the place where Dwarves go, and here we stand. Together in each of our endings… I think that right there says just all about there is that needs being said, don’t you?”

Thorin gaped at him, mouth working silently as he collected himself again, and Bilbo waited, foot tapping impatiently on the smooth polished wood.

“I….I….” He swallowed “I hadn’t thought of it that way...” He finally admitted, reaching up sheepishly to rub the back of his head.

Bilbo smiled then, at him, and his heart soared. “Of course you didn’t you overdramatic sod. And that is why you need me around. So then?” He cocked his head. “Are you going to kiss me again?”

Shaking his head once more at just how blunt his fiery Hobbit could be, Thorin stepped forward and leaned down to kiss him again…

And froze dead at the sound of a throat being cleared.

“Not that this isn’t all very enlightening and entertaining… but aren’t you going to introduce us dear?”

A deep flush traced its way across Thorin’s cheeks and down his neck, disappearing under the simple thin blue tunic he wore. A pair of Hobbits, slightly younger than Bilbo but both resembling him undeniably, stood at the end of the hall, watching with curious expressions.

The lass was short and pleasingly plump, with the thickest cascade of tight honey blond curls that Thorin had ever seen, the lad had dark brown eyes and a serious expression, along with a very familiar nose. He glanced at Bilbo for a moment just to be sure and yes, that was certainly the same nose.

He cleared his throat, straightening to his full height and donning an air or practiced formality like a sturdy armor, prepared for battle and opened his mouth to introduce himself to what was clearly his One’s family.

“Mum, Da, this is Thorin, son of Thrain, King of Erebor, clueless prat and often a hard headed sod.” Bilbo shifted to stand in front of the dwarf with his back pressed to Thorin’s front “And I love him. With all my soul and being.”

Thorin’s mouth snapped shut and he gave the top of Bilbo’s head a mild glare.

Belladonna grinned widely and hustled forward. “Well it certainly is a pleasure Mr. Thorin.” She reached out, but not to shake his hand, and Thorin’s cheeks grew warmer as she shamelessly groped at his well-muscled arms. “I’m Belladonna Baggins, my my my… I can certainly see why my boy has been so… dissatisfied since he arrived, why if I had such a fine, handsom-“

“Mum!”

“Bell!”

Thorin was quickly starting to wish he had worn actual armor.

Bilbo pulled his mother away, earning himself an annoyed tutting. “Now button, it’s a mother’s prerogative to ensure that her children are making good choices, although I must say you certainly have done well for yourself!”

Bungo stepped forward offering his hand to the Dwarf who took it with an air of relief. “Bungo Baggins sir, it is certainly a pleasure. And um, well…. Did I hear my boy correctly, King? Is it?”

Again before Thorin could answer Bilbo was turning his attention back to them. “Yes yes, King of Erebor! Well, King under the mountain, well… he died before he could really RULE the mountain but that’s all really just details. Scarcely important at all”

“Button!” Bella scolded. “You never told me you went and married yourself a king!”

“Well… We never actually married you see.”

“Not married? Now son I’m not sure that this is entirely proper...”

“Well how was I supposed to marry him, he was dead! And now I am dead, we are both dead, and we are dead together and really at this point marriage is just a formality at any rate.”

“Yes but formality is important, there are traditions!”

“And how else do you know when to have the anniversary party?”

“You mean the anniversary guilt trip?”

“Just because you never remember…”

“I do to remember, maybe not every year..”

“Not every year? Try not any year!”

“Mum, Da, this really isn’t the best-…”

Thorin watched as the pair of Hobbits fall into an animated squabble and tried not to grin, reminded of arguing sparrows, or squirrels, all titching at each other back and forth, oblivious to their audience, or to Bilbo for that matter, who was now flitting around the edges, trying to call their attention away from each other.

“Well, what about that year I had Rosalee Bracegirdle sew you that lovely blue dress, you loved that dress!”

“That wasn’t our anniversary you lummox, that was longnight!”

“….Was it?”

“Yes!”

“Well what about-“

‘MUM!! DA!!! WILL YOU STOP!!!”

Bilbo’s parents rounded on him instantly, Bella with her finger raised accusingly. “Now don’t you be taking that sort of tone with me, you’re not so old that I can’t have you over my knee an-“

Thorin cleared his throat loudly and she cut off, flushing briefly in embarrassment. “Oh dear me, I forgot we had a guest!”

Bilbo dropped his face into his hands with a groan. “That’s why I was trying to get your attention!” He looked up at them again. “If we could… or can, travel back and forth freely then by all means we can have a proper wedding, but for all that any of us know this may be it, one chance, one last goodbye, and I will see you again when Arda is remade.”

Bella wrapped her arms around her son. “I know my darling, I know. We’ve discussed this already…“ She released him then, and collected the pack, holding it up for Bilbo to slip on. “There now, everything you wanted to bring with you, and of course all of our love. But if this door does remain you’ll be coming ‘round for tea sometime, and not waiting forever on that, I should hope?”

He kissed her then on the cheek, and his father as well, hugging both of them tightly. “Of course I will mum, da. If there is any way I will be here as regular as the sun, you know that.” Then he turned decisively and reached out for Thorin who was now watching with an expression akin to amazement.

The dwarf took his hand uncertainly, looking over his shoulder at the two Hobbits once more before asking. “You’re certain of this? Even if you cannot return you would sacrifice an eternity of peace in a place perfect for you, to spend it Mahal’s halls?”

Bilbo tutted at him, lacing their fingers together. “You silly dwarf, the only place perfect for me any longer is wherever you are, it’s as simple as that.” He steered them both back to the doorway, pushing Thorin in front of him. “Now let’s go, I’m sure those nephews of yours are quite impatient for us to arrive… OH!” Half in the glimmering darklight of the door he turned back to his parents one last time.

“I do hope it will be a long many years before Frodo comes this way, and when he does if I cannot return then he will certainly be most upset at me for this, So I would ask that you please welcome him with all of my love and care, he is a sweet child and you should love him dearly I am sure.”

Bella and Bungo assured him that of course they would, and he would have his own parents to welcome him as well, and with those final farewells, Bible followed Thorin through the waiting doorway and on to his next great adventure.


End file.
